<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>ALONE (OMEN 3) by Spaghettoi</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136365">ALONE (OMEN 3)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaghettoi/pseuds/Spaghettoi'>Spaghettoi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sleepy Bois Inc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Runaways, Fever, Found Family, Gen, IM SORRY I DIDNT ADD PHIL, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, Trains, based on ycgma, but the first chapter is just fun stuff with Unfortunate Undertones, fear n shiz, i guesS??????, i guess?, i might as well just call this "tommy goes through it and wilbur and techno worry", it's too late now, not really???????? kind of, using lots of question marks on the tags today boys, were poor and were on a train. whaddaya want from me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:01:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaghettoi/pseuds/Spaghettoi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(Wil's a kid. Tommy's a kid. It's only for their need to keep his innocence that Tommy shows his youth so proudly. It lives in the childish flush of still round cheeks, in loud, unworn voices and their counterpart giddy laughter. Wilbur's hides, elusive in the not-so-defined jaw, the weary eyes, the occasional crack in his voice that he tries so desperately to hide.</p><p>Techno wonders suddenly when he became the oldest.)</p><p>--</p><p>Tommy is sick. Wilbur just wants to get off this god forsaken train. Techno is doing his best to hold them together. </p><p>(also known as: i have no more excuses just take it)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>589</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ALONE (OMEN 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/maternaljoke/gifts">maternaljoke</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeCrFiDr/gifts">SeCrFiDr</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(i don't think this crosses any boundaries and i've researched to the best of my abilities, but i'm still not too knowledgeable on tommy; if this goes too far, please notify me and it will be edited or removed.)</p><p>--</p><p>"take a dip, if you're alone, take your time<br/>take a ticket, take the train to the end of the line<br/>see where you can go; you spent it, it's plastic, no do or die<br/>better flip it, think about it, you'll do just fine, well</p><p>just don't forget you're not alone/deep in the metropole"</p><p>alone, omen 3 - King Krule</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lights are a grimy, sickly yellow, and they catch against the edges of the train car and silhouette the group of them in an unhealthy eggshell. They’re ringed in light like haloes in a poorly made Renaissance painting. Techno winces, shifts his eyes, and tries to ignore the way the yellow seems to burn into the backs of his eyelids.</p><p>It's late. Two in the morning, maybe. The train is barren, cold and empty without any of its traditional hustle and bustle. The only other companions on today's ride to hell are the occasional hunched figures scattered about the seats.</p><p>They're at the back, tucked into a row meant for two, seating three instead. Wilbur's pinned against the window, and if he's being honest, Techno is a bit envious of the poetic romanticization of poverty he embodies. Grimy clothes, grimy face, long hair that curls in his eyes, staring wistfully out the glass to an uncaring smear of a world. All sharp cheekbones and long eyelashes. The perfect little runaway in the perfect coming of age movie.</p><p>When he looks at Tommy, though, the feeling morphs into one that gnaws at his gut and stains his insides with charcoal.</p><p>Tommy is young. Too young for this, at the very fucking least. Stuck between the two of them, leaned into Techno's shoulder, legs folded beneath him and out onto Wil’s lap. (Wilbur taps nervous, rhythmless beats against his ankle.) His hair falls in his eyes and sticks to his forehead, and Techno finds himself brushing it from his face almost subconsciously. His brow creases and he shuffles away his discomfort, face slipping against Techno's shoulder—a dull and disheartening reminder of the fever that still flushes through him, leaving him weary and heavy-limbed in moments of wake. As much as Techno hates to admit it, he prefers the fitful sleep and overcast silences to Tommy’s incoherent, delirious babbling.</p><p>“Techno,” Wil says, and Techno glances up at him, arm tightening around Tommy's waist just the slightest, pulling the kid into his side. Wil stares owlishly at him, wide childish eyes that stir something heavy and slippery in Techno's chest. “He's getting worse.”</p><p>(Wil's a kid. Tommy's a kid. It's only for their need to keep his innocence that Tommy shows his youth so proudly. It lives in the childish flush of still round cheeks, in loud, unworn voices and their counterpart giddy laughter. Wilbur's hides, elusive in the not-so-defined jaw, the weary eyes, the occasional crack in his voice that he tries so desperately to hide.</p><p>Techno wonders suddenly when he became the oldest.)</p><p>He's right, of course, not that Techno wants to confront it. Tommy is getting worse, a fact that's all the more ever-pressing with each day, as his fever fluctuates dangerously high and the heat rolls off of him in waves. </p><p>He's getting worse. He is.</p><p>Techno swallows around the lump in his throat and finds that he can't speak anyway. </p><p>Wil sniffs at the halfhearted nod of his head. “When’s the next stop?”</p><p>Something he can answer. He glances at the analog clock on the wall above the door. “3 hours or so,” he says, hushed. “5 A.M. arrival, I’m pretty sure.”</p><p>“They gotta have something,” Wilbur mutters, and Techno is glad to realize it was a comment made only for himself. He blinks, gnaws at the chapped skin of his bottom lip before his fingers come up to brush Techno’s shoulder. “Whatever. How are you? Feels like it’s been a while.”</p><p>Techno surprises himself with a low chuckle. He’s right, though; seems like Wil always is. “I’m good,” he says, far too casual and stilted. Wilbur takes the non-admission like a blow to the chest; with a strong exhale and a shrinking back. His hand falls limply from Techno’s shoulder and lands in his lap. </p><p>They both know it’s a lie.</p><p>“Good,” he says, “that’s good.” And nothing else.</p><p>The unwilling silence is back, and it feels just a bit thicker this time. </p><p>Techno swallows. Sour moods are bad for all three of them. He pushes any anger from his chest, forces it down into his gut where it will hopefully rot; there'll be time for that later, when things are stabler. For now, he just has to learn to play nice with others. Not that he’s ever had an issue with that, at least, not when it came to Wil—he forces a grin onto his face that feels cheaper than the stale air. “How are you holding up?”</p><p>Wilbur huffs out of his nose, brushes his hair out of one eye and into the other. “I'm fine,” he says.</p><p>“Are you?”</p><p>“I don’t know why you don’t trust me,” Wilbur says, frown deepening on his face.</p><p>“Of course I trust you,” Techno says, exasperated. “I’m just worried, dude.”</p><p>“Don’t be. Have you forgotten I’m the oldest—”</p><p>“Doesn’t help that you don’t act like it—”</p><p>“Oh, shut up—”</p><p>“You barely even ca—”</p><p>Tommy shifts again, and they both freeze; when he lets out a whimper and drags clumsy fingers against Techno's coat, fever-flushed cheeks darkening just a bit, Wil catches his eye.</p><p>The fear there is palpable; as is the silent offering. An agreement. <em>He comes first. He has to come first.</em></p><p>It's never been a question before. It still isn't. A confirmation only, and when Techno gives him a single, slow nod, Wil lets out a breath he didn't seem to realize he was holding. </p><p>When Tommy finally stills, legs stretching out over Wilbur's and Techno’s fingers dug into the space just below his ribcage, Techno allows himself to follow Wil’s lead. Allows himself one breath, and then another, and allows his shoulders to sink back down from his ears.</p><p>With one hand, Wilbur swipes his thumb across his own knuckles. With the other, he rubs slow, comforting circles into Tommy's knee. </p><p>The train continues to roll, and they both pretend not to notice when the lights flicker.</p><p>“Sleep,” Wilbur says. When Techno turns to look at him, he offers a kind, weary grin. “I'm serious. God knows you need the rest.”</p><p>If the bags beneath Wil’s eyes tell anything, it's the hypocrisy. They both know it. But more than that, it's a peace offering. </p><p>Techno sighs, resettles his arm around Tommy's middle, and allows himself to relax.</p><p>“Goodnight, Wil,” he says softly.</p><p>“Night.”</p><p>--</p><p>(“Oh my god,” Wilbur laughs, tugging the suede monstrosity out of the rack. “Oh my god.”</p><p>“What is it?” Tommy asks, looking up from a rack of t-shirts. “Oh, holy shit.”</p><p>And then Tommy, the fucker, turns to Techno with the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.</p><p>“What?” he asks, trying to keep the sinking feeling in his gut and out of his throat.</p><p>“Try it,” Tommy says cheekily. “Try it, try it, Technooooo—”</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Oh, Techno, you know you love it,” Wil says, shoving the coat into his chest. It weighs about a million pounds. “Don’t even bother.”</p><p>“I’m not wearing this,” he says.</p><p>He wears it.</p><p>“I mean, it does look sick,” Tommy says. </p><p>“It looks hideous.”</p><p>“You <em>like</em> hideous!”</p><p>“Funny, cause I don’t like you,” Techno mutters, looking in the mirror. It really isn’t that bad; the colors are a bit much, but it’s just roomy enough to be comfortable. Well worn.</p><p>“Damn, double whammy,” Wilbur says with a low whistle. </p><p>It’s not that bad. It really isn’t. And if they’re headed up the East Coast, which they are, and if it’s about to be October, which it is. . . </p><p>He shrugs it off and tugs at the faded fabric tag. Stapled to it: $17.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>Tommy watches with a fading smile as he slips it back on the hanger and shoves it into the nearest rack. The stupid thing barely fits; Techno watches a tasteless mess of a shirt hit the floor and nudges it with his foot.</p><p>“You’re not gonna get it?” Tommy asks as if it’s a personal offense. Techno ignores whatever the hell just froze in the center of his chest and dusts himself off.</p><p>“I told you, it’s hideous.” When Tommy’s frown stays firmly planted, Techno swallows. Ruffles his hair. “Come on, we need to go look at shoes.”</p><p>“Not the boots again,” Tommy whines, Coat Offenses forgotten. There we go. “I told you, these are perfectly fine—”</p><p>“The soles are falling off,” Wilbur juts in, grabbing at Tommy’s wrist. In the split second his eyes meet Techno’s, it’s clear that they’ve come to the same conclusion.</p><p>Tommy gives a frustrated noise. “So are yours!”</p><p>Wilbur sighs. “Tommy, I know you enjoy being annoying, but I think this is getting a bit redundant.”</p><p>“Piss off,” Tommy mutters but lets Wilbur tug him along. </p><p>They don't find any boots. Nothing worthwhile, at least, but Techno does get to watch Tommy hurl the ugliest pairs of high-heels he finds at Wilbur’s head, which he counts as a win. Not a good thrift, but a good time.</p><p>They could use some more of those.</p><p>“You sure about the jacket?” Tommy asks as a seeming last resort, glancing back at the dingy storefront.</p><p>He sighs. “Let’s just go, okay? Can’t miss the next train.”</p><p>“There’s always another,” Tommy argues. “Just—I’ll meet you guys, yeah?”</p><p>“What are you—?”</p><p>“Be right back!” Tommy shouts, already halfway across the parking lot. They both stand stock-still as Tommy ducks back inside. </p><p>“Well, we're fucked,” Wilbur says after a beat, sounding more resigned than anything. </p><p>Techno snorts. “What sort of crimes do you think he’s committing?”</p><p>“All of them,” Wilbur moans dramatically, sinking against Techno’s shoulder like he’s in a soap opera. “Oh, our little—uh, our, our crime boy.”</p><p>“That was so bad,” Techno laughs, shoving Wil off of him. “That wasn’t even, that—”</p><p>“He’ll be the death of me—”</p><p>“Get off of me, nerd—”</p><p>“I’ve taught him well,” Wilbur says with something like pride. “Committing petty crimes.”</p><p>“You’ve tarnished him, is what you’ve done.”</p><p>Wil laughs. “How much was the stupid thing, anyway? How much are we in for?”</p><p>“Like, eighteen bucks,” Techno says, scuffing his shoe against the asphalt. “He’s gonna get us arrested for an overpriced piece of literal garbage.”</p><p>“Gave me a headache,” Wilbur agrees. The wind picks up, whipping his hair into his eyes. He tugs his cardigan tighter around his shoulders. </p><p>It’s getting colder. </p><p>He’s never traveled like this before. Frankly, he doesn’t want to again. But it’s not like they have anywhere better to go, and the trains are always running, faster than his feet could carry him. Really, that's all he's ever asked for.</p><p>They're not going anywhere. There isn't a destination—at least, not yet. He's just thankful they're not running from anything.</p><p>“Wil,” Techno starts, and stops, and clacks his mouth shut. Wilbur eyes him. “Uh—what does happen if we get arrested?”</p><p>Wilbur scoffs. “Tommy’s smarter than that.” </p><p>“I mean generally.”</p><p>Wilbur pales—and straightens. His eyes harden, and he puts his hands on Techno’s shoulders.</p><p>“We’re not getting caught, Techno,” he says seriously, jostling him a bit. “Don’t even worry about it.”</p><p>“But what if we do?”</p><p>“We won’t.” There’s a finality there that almost makes Techno believe him.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>Techno sniffs, shrugs Wilbur’s hands away. “Next time there’s a confrontation, you’re covering.”</p><p>Wilbur laughs. “Fine by me.”</p><p>“Hey!” someone hollers, and Techno and Wilbur whip around to Tommy, barreling out of the store with the stupid thing in his arms. “Get back here!”</p><p>“Time to go!” Tommy shouts, and then they're all running, pounding feet down the pavement and towards the hustle and bustle. “We can't miss the next train!”)</p><p>--</p><p>Wil is shaking him by the shoulders. More pressingly, he's slumped against the seat, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle, with arms empty.</p><p> “I'm up, I'm up,” he says, rubbing his eyes and forcing a yawn back into his lungs. “Where's Tommy?”</p><p>“Coming,” Wilbur says. The morning is bright and white, catching on his greasy curls and making him look like an angel. He presses a bag into Techno’s fingers. “Went and got food.”</p><p>“What, you left him?”</p><p>Wilbur looks scandalized. “I did not <em>leave</em> him,” he scoffs, shoving at Techno’s shoulder. He scoots haphazardly into the seat over. “I said he’s coming. He’s allowed some independence, you know.”</p><p>“I mean, yeah, sure,” Techno starts. Wilbur shoulders him into sliding further over. “He’s also 14 and delirious.”</p><p>Wilbur’s laugh sinks into the air. “He was doing better when he woke up. You’ll see.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Just eat,” he says, and some of his familiar, superior bite slinks back into his tone. “He’ll be fine.”</p><p>Not worth the argument this morning, he decides. He opens the bag and wrinkles his nose. “What even is this?”</p><p>“Food,” Wil says. “So eat, you idiot.”</p><p>So he does. It tastes like shit, but a breakfast sandwich is not to be passed up. They’ve been getting thinner as of recent, after all, and it’s not exactly like they can do to waste things. </p><p>(Techno doesn’t miss when Wil offers Tommy the rest of his already too-small dinners, but he keeps his mouth shut. Wilbur does the same for him. </p><p>If he’s being honest, they make a pretty good team.)</p><p>And Wilbur tells the truth. Hasn’t been wrong yet, and doesn’t lie just because he can. Maybe that’s the difference in them. Maybe that’s why Tommy likes him better, no matter how much he’d deny. </p><p>Whatever, no time to get philosophical, or, god forbid, introspective—Tommy’s head pops through the door of the car, and Techno can’t help but grin as he bounds back to their seat and throws himself between them. </p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” he grumbles, sinking against Wilbur’s side. “Bitch at the ticket booth was giving me trouble.”</p><p>“Language,” Wil reprimands. </p><p>“Shut up,” Tommy says goodnaturedly, slugging him in the shoulder. Techno’s heart leaps to his throat when he nearly drops the remains of his breakfast sandwich. “So—how much longer, d’you think?”</p><p>It’s aimed at Wilbur, but it’s a question he doesn’t know the answer to. Not anymore, at least. </p><p>Again, Techno finds himself thinking of the way things have changed. Wilbur used to know everything; the fact that he comes up short should be enough to put a bad taste in his mouth. Somehow, though, it doesn't surprise him in the slightest. </p><p>It's not a matter of lying. It's a matter of staying unaware. And when it became clear that Wilbur was hitting a breaking point, the only person left to pick up slack was Techno. So he navigates! So he keeps them moving, and Wilbur keeps them out of trouble, and they keep Tommy safe and sound in the dark.</p><p>(Tommy's not stupid; both of them know that. They just aren't keen on pulling his rose-colored glasses from his eyes. The world is harsh, and mean, and if they have one thing in common, it's that they want to keep Tommy happy. It's all to keep Tommy happy.)</p><p>So Wil says “'Til the next stop,” just like always.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im a fucking nerd and ive been thinking REAL hard about sleepy bois<br/>i,,,,,, don't know how this started? style is weird. was listening to ycgma and i the only thought i had was "hey, i can do something with that," so here we are.<br/>not quite a songfic. not /not/ a songfic. </p><p>dedicated to the very lovely maternaljoke, your fics are SUPER inspiring (YOUR STYLE IS SO GOOD I ASDFGSJF) and your formatting (mostly just the lyrics in the first note) made my brain WHRRRRRR so!!!!! props to you<br/>also giving this to ollie for always shouting about the snippets i drop asdfghdf love ya &lt;3 &lt;3 </p><p>theres ,,,, supposed to be more of this ? we'll see if we get there or not </p><p>as always, thanks to the server for having my dumb little back, thanks for reading, hope this is? good? and at least a little accurate to their personas? out of all of them i watch tommy the least so i , fear, a bit,<br/>n e waysss stream your city gave me asthma if you haven't yet</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>